V2S63. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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AS  THOUGHT  IS  LED 


As  Thought  Is  Led 


LYRICS  AND  SONNETS 


BY 


ALICIA  K.  VAN  BUREN 


BOSTON 
RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

The  Gorham  Press 
1904 


Copyright  1904  by  ALICIA  K.  VAN  BUREN. 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  at 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


PS 


CONTENTS 

Page. 

As  Thought  is  Led 7 

The  Neighboring  Firesides 8 

Longing    9 

Cherokee  Roses   10 

The  World  is  Strange 1 1 

Love's  Inconsistency 12 

Repression 13 

The  Seed 14 

To-day  and  Tomorrow 15 

The  Only  Way 16 

Reconciled 17 

Hypnosis 1 8 

Deferred    19 

Promptings 20 

Unconscious  Worth 21 

Mother  Mary 22 

Rest 23 

The  Beech  Tree 24 

5 


1051935 


Page. 

Unchanged 25 

A  Memory 26 

Hereafter 27 

Inspiration 28 

Euthanasia    29 

Telepathy 30 

An  Impression   31 

ToM.  L.  K 32 

Action    33 

When  to  Come  Back 34 

Because  I  Love  You  So 36 

Mother  and  Child 37 

These  April  Days 38 

The  Moon-Beam  Bridge 39 

The  Old  School-House 40 

Fading  Flowers 42 

In  Florida 43 

November   44 

My  Violin 46 

Spring    47 

Memory 48 


AS  THOUGHT  IS  LED 

A  dewy  morning  with  unclouded  skies ! 

Nothing  I  crave  the  kindly  earth  denies. 

Above,  below,  around,  in  all  I  see, 

A  sense  of  beauty  breathes.    The  old  beech  tree 

Is  gently  swaying  in  the  breeze,  and  low 

And  soft  its  leaves  are  whispering  as  though 

They   feared  to  break  my  rest  with  too  much 

sound — 

Their  shadows  too  seem  whispering  on  the  ground. 
The  birds  have  ceased  to  sing  and  all  is  still 
As  slumberland  may  be,  and  down  the  hill, 
Though  glancing  right  and  left,  naught  holds  my 

eye 

Save  one  slow-flitting  white-winged  butterfly. 
Quite  idly  do  I  watch  it  as  it  speeds, 
Now  here,  now  there,  as  though  each  flower  it 

needs     * 

Must  try — the  iron  weed,  the  golden-rod, 
And  milk-weed  with  its  bursting  silky  pod. 
Then  down  the  hill  it  flies,  at  last  to  light 
For  one  brief  moment  on  the  little  gate. 
Thou  little  gate !  perhaps  this  very  night 
Thou  'It  open  wide  for  one — dear  love  I — I  wait. 


THE  NEIGHBORING  FIRESIDES 

A  happy  man  and  woman  sat  beside 

Their  fire.     Between  them  was  a  small  chest 

filled 
With  garments  soft  and  white;    and  gladness 

thrilled 

Their  hearts  as  piece  by  piece  they  fondly  eyed 
Each  dainty  thing,  for  each  but  served  to  guide 
Their  thoughts  to  one  whose  coming  needs  must 

build 

New  chambers  in  their  house  of  love,  and  gild 
Their  lives  with  self-forgetting  joy  and  pride. 

Alone  and  poor,  beside  another  fire, 

Another  sat.    Her  thoughts  were  those  that  stir 

The  soul  to  everlasting  griefs  and  wild 
Despair — death  was  her  eager  one  desire. 
And  soon  death  came,  but  not,  alas,  for  her. 
He  took  the  happy  mother  and  her  child. 


LONGING 

O  grcat-souled  makers  of  immortal  songs, 
I  love  you  well.    To  you  what  peace  I  owe ! 

How  many  griefs  of  mine  have  you  allayed ! 
And  yet  to-day  my  eager  spirit  longs 
To  utter  its  own  cry  of  joy  or  woe 

In  some  small  song  that  I  myself  have  made. 

And  so,  you  master  singers,  great  and  good, 

You  fail  me  now.    Though  oft  in  you  I've  found 

Relief,  to-day  you  leave  me  sad  and  lone, 
And  like  to  one  who,  craving  motherhood, 
And  seeing  many  childish  faces  round, 

Enjoys  them  not — through  longing  for  her 
own. 


CHEROKEE  ROSES 

Before  my  door  are  roses  everywhere, 
But  none  O  Cherokee !  are  fair  as  thine. 
So  thick  upon  thy  breast  the  white  blooms  shine 

They  seem  but  one  great  snowy  blossom  rare ; 

And  yet,  two  months  ago,  as  I  stood  there 
Beneath  the  fir  round  which  thy  tendrils  twine, 
I  dreamed  not  that  thy  leafless  straggling  vine 

Would  some  day  all  this  vestal  beauty  wear. 

And  thou,  my  friend,  who  seemed  so  commonplace 
When  first  I  looked  into  thy  clear  true  eyes, 

Thou  too  didst  own  an  unseen  inner  grace 
Which,  even  more  than  beauty,  beautifies. 

I  never  dreamed  thy  kindly  rugged  face 

Could  ever  look  so  good  and  brave  and  wise. 


10 


THE  WORLD  IS  STRANGE 

The  world  is  strange :  below  the  hill 

I  hear  an  unknown  call ; 
One  cry,  and  then  the  air  is  still 

Again — and  that  is  all. 

A  stroller  walks  along  the  road, 

A  horseman  gallops  by : 
I  know  them  not,  nor  their  abode, 

Nor  where  they  go,  nor  why. 

This  once,  perhaps,  they  cross  my  days 

And  never  any  more ; 
And  they  and  I  go  separate  ways, 

The  ways  we  went  before. 

They  touch  my  life  this  once,  and  bring 

So  very  little  change, 
It  seems  a  sad  unmeaning  thing. 

Ah  me,  the  world  is  strange  1 


ii 


LOVE'S  INCONSISTENCY 

One  day  when  thou  wert  ill  and  spent  with  pain, 

I  sat  beside  thy  crib  and  tried  in  vain 

To  make  thee  sleep.    When  murmured  lullabies 

And  soothing  touch  at  last  had  closed  thine  eyes, 

I  scarcely  stirred,  all  fearful  lest  I  make 

A  sound,  and  thou  to  suffering  should'st  wake. 

Again,  my  darling  child,  art  thou  asleep. 
All  day,  beside  thy  little  grave,  I  weep. 
From  pain  and  sorrow  ever  art  thou  free ; 
And  yet — Oh,  how  I  long  to  waken  thee ! 


12 


Of  much  repression  be  not  vain, 

Nor  think  it  always  best : 
Those  feelings  causing  needless  pain 

Are  better  unexpressed; 
But  if  we  may,  to  some  pale  cheek, 

A  smile  by  kind  words  win, 
And  we  those  words  refuse  to  speak, 

Then  is  repression  sin. 


THE  SEED 

God  sows  the  selfsame  truth  in  every  heart — 
A  seed  from  which  at  birth  a  plant  doth  start; 
But  every  plant  a  different  blossom  shows 
According  to  the  soil  wherein  it  grows. 

Condemn  no  creed !     Dig  deep  beneath  the  sod 
And  at  the  root  thou'lt  find  the  truth  of  God. 


TO-DAY  AND  TOMORROW 

To-day  we  pray  for  death, 
Tomorrow  pray  for  life, 

And  almost  every  breath 
Is  drawn  in  strife. 

If  death  came  when  we  willed 

No  grave  would  be  unfilled ; 

If  life  came  when  we  prayed 
No  grave  be  made. 


THE  ONLY  WAY 

I  lost  my  way  when  in  the  woods  one  night 

And  took  a  path  I  ne'er  before  had  known. 

A  storm  was  threatening,  and  it  had  grown 
Quite  dark,  and  moon  and  stars  were  hid  from 

sight. 
Then  round  my  heart  a  numbing  sense  of  fright 

Pressed  hard — I  seemed  so  utterly  alone ! 

Till  through  the  gloom  a  flash  of  lightning  shone 
And  I  beheld  the  homeward  path  aright. 

And  so,  dear  love,  whenever  pain  or  care 
Or  disappointment  darken  any  day; 

When  hope  is  almost  vanquished  by  despair, 
And  every  thought  is  wandering  astray, 

One  word  from  thee  will  brighten  all  the  air 
And  lead  my  feet  along  the  loveward  way. 


16 


RECONCILED 

We  sometimes  grudge  the  hours  of  rest, 
Our  minds  too  feverish  for  sleep ; 

And  toss  upon  our  beds,  distressed 
That  we  the  daytime  may  not  keep. 

There  are  so  many  things  to  do, 
So  many  things  must  still  be  seen, 

And  day's  swift  moments  are  too  few 
For  idle  night  to  intervene. 

But  slowly,  now,  through  every  limb 
There  creeps  a  grateful  weariness, 

And  gradually  the  mind  grows  dim, 
The  heavy  eyelids  downward  press. 

How  sweet  the  dreamland  where  we  go, 
The  long  night  that  before  us  lies! 

Ah !  welcome  Death !    If  only  so 

Thy  cool  soft  fingers  close  mine  eyes ! 


HYPNOSIS 

I  love  the  little,  swift,  tempestuous  brook, 

Whose  bubbling  waters,   cool   and   fresh   and 

sweet, 
Invite  the  thirsty  wanderer's  weary  feet 

To  where  the  tall  trees  make  a  shady  nook. 

I  love  to  lie  there  in  the  pleasant  shade 

And  watch  the  changing  waters  glide  and  gleam, 
Until  the  living  world  becomes  a  dream, 

And  I  myself  into  a  dream  am  made. 


18 


DEFERRED 

Each  day  I  Ve  worn  a  smile  to  hide 
Suspense  and  pain  thine  absence  made, 

Till  now  my  smiles  have  slowly  died, 
As  garments  too  long  used  must  fade. 

And  though  thou  'rt  come  again  and  brought 
Relief  from  all  those  haunting  fears, 

To  tell  the  joy  I  feel  I  Ve  naught, 
O  dearest  one,  but  sobs  and  tears. 


PROMPTINGS 

For  me  the  sunbeams  glance  and  glow, 
And  soft  winds  breathe.    On  me  all  day 

The  thriftless  happy  birds  bestow 
Their  lavish  carols,  blithe  and  gay. 

For  me  with  fresher  beauty  bloom 

The  flowers,  and  shed  their  faint  perfume. 

So  sweet  are  night,  noon,  eve  and  morn, 
My  happy  heart  is  like  to  break 

If  from  its  joy  there  be  not  born 
A  tender  love  for  thy  dear  sake. 

As  nature  showers  her  gifts  on  me 

So  let  me  shower  my  love  on  thee. 


20 


UNCONSCIOUS  WORTH 
To  L.  D.  S. 

The  sun  one  day  looked  down  upon  the  earth 
And  filled  it  with  a  light  so  gold  and  rare, 
Each  living  thing  awoke  and  all  the  air 

Grew  musical  with  sweet  content  and  mirth ; 

And  forest  trees  and  tiny  plants  gave  birth 
To  tender  leaves  and  fragrant  blossoms  fair. 
But  though  the  sun  shed  beauty  everywhere 

'T  was  all  unmindful  of  its  own  great  worth. 

So  thou,  dear  one,  unconscious  of  thy  power, 
Called  forth  the  good  that  lay  within  each  heart; 

And  oft  thy  gentle  spirit's  kindly  rays — 
Like  sunshine  falling  on  the  night-chilled  flower — 
Have  made  love  bloom  and  tender  impulse  start 
When  life  seemed  dark  through  all  its  hope 
less  days. 


21 


MOTHER  MARY 

The  Mother  Mary  sat  beside 
The  manger,  rough  and  bare, 

And  watched  with  happiness  and  pride 
The  infant  sleeping  there. 

All  memory  of  her  pain  was  past; 

A  new  joy  had  begun. 
Her  mother-love  would  fain  forecast 

The  glory  of  her  son : — 

Her  son  who  was  to  be  a  king ! 

A  king  with  wealth  and  power. 
She  knew  not  that  the  years  would  bring 

That  last  dark  awful  hour. 

Like  Mary  every  mother  turns 

Her  eager  tender  eyes 
Upon  her  own  dear  child  and  yearns 

That  he  to  fame  may  rise. 

But,  oh,  if  she  perchance  could  see 

The  hatred  and  the  scorn, 
The  long-borne  bitter  agony, 

The  hero's  crown  of  thorn ! 


22 


REST 

With  full  content  my  tranquil  heart  is  blessed 
As  underneath  the  peaceful  trees  I  lie. 
Sweet  lulling  sounds — the  wind's  low  rhythmic 
sigh, 

The  bird's  glad  singing,  clear  and  unrepressed, 

The  anxious  hum  of  bees  as  fearful  lest 

They  miss  one  flower — like  some  soft  lullaby 
Have  filled  my  soul  with  peace;  and  ear  and  eye 

And  heart  and  mind  are  gently  soothed  to  rest. 

Dear  love,  my  days  were  long  and  sad  till  thou 
Didst  make  the  world  seem  fair.     But  well  I 
know 

That  those  remembered  griefs,  which  once  did  bow 
My  soul,  this  happy  restfulness  bestow. 

In  truth,  how  could  I  feel  this  gladness  now 
Had  I  not  known  the  bitterness  of  woe  ? 


THE  BEECH  TREE 

The  solitary  beech  stands  dark  and  bare 

Against  the  winter  sky.    Rough  winds  have  torn 
Its  leaves  away;  and  now  it  seems  to  mourn 

The  cruel  loss  of  all  that  made  it  fair. 

When  clothed  in  its  full  green  't  was  wont  to  share 
Its  sheltered  peace;    birds'   fragile  nests  were 

borne 
Amid  its  leafy  boughs,  and  many  a  worn 

Sad  soul  beneath  its  shade  dismissed  his  care. 

My  loveless  life  once  seemed  thus  bare  and  stern 
Till   fresh,   unhoped-for  hopes  changed   every 
part: 

For  now  I  love  and  know  love's  sweet  return, 
And  now  I  feel  life's  quickening  influence  start 

Like  leaves  in  spring;  and  every  day  I  yearn 
To  shed  my  gladness  o'er  some  other  heart. 


24 


UNCHANGED 

Once  more  beside  thy  shore  I  stand, 

My  own  St.  Johns, 
And  every  tree  through  all  the  land — 

Like  one  who  dons 
His  richest  garb  wherein  to  greet 

The  honored  guest — 
In  bright  array  and  fragrance  sweet 

Is  newly  dressed. 
Though  newly  dressed  the  selfsame  trees 

I  knew  last  spring — 
Through  whose  green  boughs  the  selfsame  breeze 

Is  whispering — 
Are  here  again  to  welcome  me : 

The  slender  pine, 
The  moss-hung  china-berry  tree, 

The  jasmine  vine 
That  twines  about  the  old  dead  fir, 

The  orange  bloom 
That  scents  the  air  when  soft  winds  stir 

Its  faint  perfume, 
The  Spanish-bayonet  whose  crown 

Too  heavy  weighs, 
The  pampas-grass,  now  dry  and  brown, 

That  idly  sways ; — 
They  all  are  now  just  as  before 

Through  many  and  many  a  year ; 
And  some  day  I  shall  come  no  more, 

But  they  will  still  be  here. 

25 


A  MEMORY 
To  L.  K.  F. 

It  is  the  fairest  of  October  days; 

Upon  the  hills  the  trees  are  all  ablaze 

With  red,  red-brown  and  gold;  and  left  and  right 

The  valley  fields  are  bathed  in  purple  light. 

The  air  is  filled  with  Autumn's  witching  sound : 
The  gentle  fall  of  beechnuts  on  the  ground; 
The  sharp  repeated  raps  the  woodpeckers  beat ; 
The  rustle  of  the  grass  beneath  my  feet ; 

And,  merged  in  one  deep  rhythmic  monotone, 
The  hum  of  bees,  the  insects'  ceaseless  drone, 
The  far-off  songs  of  birds,  and  in  the  leaves 
The  wind's    low  sigh,   like  one  who  loves   and 
grieves. 

How  soft  the  breeze  I  it  hardly  stirs  my  hair. 
How  warm  the  sun !  the  mantle  that  I  wear 
Is  thrown  aside.    Ah  me !  the  earth  is  clad 
In  bright  unwonted  charm — but  I  am  sad. 

For  on  a  day  like  this  you  came  to  me 
Last  fall.    We  stood  beneath  this  very  tree. 
I  see  you  still  and  hear  each  word  you  said, 
But  now  I  stand  alone — and  you  are  dead. 


26 


HEREAFTER 

Should'st  thou  still  live,  beloved,  and  I  die, 
I  pray  that  hopeless  sorrow  may  not  press 
Too  long  and  heavily.     In  thy  distress, 

Let  not  thy  grief-enshrouded  heart  deny 

The  words  of  solace  that  may  soothe  its  sigh. 
Draw  not  apart  from  those  whose  tenderness 
And  sympathy  would  make  thy  sorrow  less, 

But  strive  to  see  earth's  joys  with  undimmed  eye. 

And  some  day  thou  shalt  hear  a  voice  and  see 
A  smile  reminding  thee,  perchance,  of  mine ; 
And  from  that  voice  and  smile  a  love  may 

grow 

Again  within  thy  heart.     God  grant  that  she 
Who  calls  it  forth  may  make  thy  pathway  shine 
With  joy  as  great  as  thou  hast  made  me  know. 


INSPIRATION 

Have  you  not  heard  the  harsh  unpleasant  tone 
That  hands  unskilled  draw  from  the  violin  ? 
Instead  of  those  sweet  strains  they  strive  to  win 

There  comes  a  cry  or  rough  discordant  moan ; 

But  when  one  plays  to  whom  the  strings  are  known, 
A  gentle  touch  will  seem  to  wake  within 
Its  breast  a  soul  to  his  own  soul  akin, 

Till  sound  and  feeling  into  one  are  grown. 

Thus,  long  ago,  't  was  your  dear  self  who  woke 
My  slumbering  heart  to  life  and  love.    To  none 

Had  it  responded  rightly  till  you  spoke; 
And  then  life's  subtle  music  was  begun, 

For  love  had  claimed  its  own  and  at  one  stroke 
Had  made  thy  soul  and  mine  to  merge  in  one. 


28 


EUTHANASIA 

In  that  sweet  hour  before  the  end  of  day, 
Just  as  the  sun  in  silence  steals  away, 
It  sheds  upon  the  sky  and  sea  and  shore 
A  radiant  light  they  never  knew  before. 

And  so  't  is  said  that  ere  the  spirit  goes 

At  end  of  life,  the  wearied  body  knows 

A  brief  and  new-born  ease  and  strength,  the  while 

The  lines  of  pain  become  a  peaceful  smile. 


29 


•- 


TELEPATHY 

There  are  wise  men,  I  know,  who  teach 

That  souls — though  far  apart — 
With  kindred  souls  may  hold  some  speech. 

To-night,  although  my  lips  are  dumb, 

I  call  with  all  my  heart; 
Then  why,  dear  love,  do  you  not  come  ? 


AN  IMPRESSION 

Inquiring,  wistful  eyes  that  hope  somewhere 
To  find  new  happiness,  yet  fearful  lest 
Another  sadness  rise.    A  brow  distressed 

With  thinking  oft  of  days  too  full  of  care, 

And  marked  by  cruel  lines — but  still  how  fair! 
Wide  nostrils  that  deep  breathings  of  unrest 
Have  fashioned  so,  and  pallid  lips  compressed 

To  check  a  moan — of  what  unknown  despair? 

I  know  not  what  upon  that  face  has  wrought 
Such  grievous  marks ;  but,  underneath  its  gloom, 

I  see  the  dormant  powers  of  joy,  which  naught 
But  love  itself  can  waken  and  illume. 

O  would,  sweet  piteous  face,  I  had  the  might 

To  drive  away  thy  gloom  and  bring  the  light ! 


To  M.  L.  K. 

In  vain  I  seek  for  fitting  terms,  my  dear, 
Wherewith  to  tell  you  all  the  love  I  feel. 
Alas,  the  blundering  words  do  but  conceal 
The  heart's  intent.     I  am  like  those  who  hear 
The  mind's  ethereal  music,  sweet  and  clear, 
And  yet  whose  fingers,  lacking  skill  or  ease, 
Bring  naught  but   painful   discords    from   the 
keys. 


ACTION 

Beneath  the  hill  there  runs  a  spring 
Whose  cooling  waters  oft  give  cheer 
To  some  poor  stranger  drawing  near 

To  rest  him  from  his  wandering. 

The  ceaseless  flowing  of  the  stream 
Doth  keep  its  waters  clear  and  cool; 
'T  would  soon  become  a  stagnant  pool 

Were  it  to  pause  to  drone  and  dream. 

So  he  who  spends  his  every  hour 
To  dream  and  feel  and  not  to  do, 
Must  needs  lose  force  and  stagnate  too 

In  naught  but  action  is  there  power. 


33 


WHEN  TO  COME  BACK 

My  loved  ones  sat  with  me  outside  our  door 
Last  eve.    All  bright  and  calm  the  river  lay, 
Save  when  some  leaping  fish  with  sudden  splash 
Made  wide  dark  ripples  on  the  smooth  expanse. 
The  faint  breeze  scarcely  stirred  the  tiny  isles 
Of  hyacinth  that  floated  with  the  tide, 
Nor  seemed  to  move  the  sail-boats,  far  away, 
Of  weary  fishermen  returning  home. 
Above  the  long  dark  line  of  oaks  and  pines 
That  marks  the  farther  shore,  the  sky  was  tinged 
With  purple  hues  and  pink.    One  star  alone 
Through  misty  clouds  shone  dimly  overhead. 
So  peaceful  and  so  silent  earth  and  sky 
And  river  were,  that  we  grew  silent  too, 
Submitting  heart  and  mind  to  nature's  mood. 


34 


From  out  the  dreamy  realm  of  formless  thought 
Rose  memories  of  you,  dear  Iov7e ;  not  those 
That  fill  the  heart  with  pain,  but  only  such 
As  make  its  sadness  sweet.    Then  all  at  once 
A  mocking-bird  close  by  began  to  sing. 
My  soul,  I  think,  was  surely  never  thrilled 
By  lovelier  music.    And  whilst  thus  it  sang 
Through  all  my  being  rushed  the  sudden  thought — 
I  know  not  why — that  you  yourself  were  near. 

The  old  belief  was  sweet  to  me,  dear  one, 
That  you  were  far  away  from  us,  at  rest 
Within  a  happier  world.    But  if  in  truth 
You  can,  as  some  report,  come  back  at  times 
To  those  you  love,  and  share  in  part  their  lives, 
O  come  I  pray  but  as  you  came  last  night, 
Come  when  our  minds  are  full  of  tranquil  thoughts, 
And  peace  environs  us  and  all  our  world. 


35 


BECAUSE  I  LOVE  YOU  SO 

Because  I  love  you  so  my  glad  heart  thrilled 
When  you  confessed  your  love.    What  longings 

lay 
Within  my  soul  to  make  your  life  a  day 

Of  happiness.     My  every  thought  was  filled 

With  eager  hope  that  I  might  grow  more  skilled 
Each  hour  to  shed  new  light  upon  your  way, 
Withholding  naught  that  pleasure  might  con 
vey — 

E'en  yielding  life  itself,  if  you  so  willed. 

Alas,  I  Ve  learned  such  anxious  love  doth  bring 
Its  sadness  too.    For  oft  I  yearn  to  find 

Approving  looks :  uneasy  fears  upspring 

When  I  perceive  them  not,  and  words  unkind, 

Perhaps,  I  say;   and  then  I  grieve  to  know 

You  Ve  turned  away — because  I  love  you  so. 


MOTHER  AND  CHILD 

My  child!     How  yearns  my  heart  o'er  thee,  as 
pressed 

To  its  quick  throbs  thy  fragile  form  doth  lie. 

Wert  thou  not  mine  thy  helplessness  would  cry 
For  sympathy;   but  in  thy  mother's  breast 
What  fears  for  thee  !    With  each  new  life  unrest, 

I  know,  is  born,  and  ere  distress  draw  nigh 

To  thee  I  long,  dear  child,  to  learn  how  I 
May  check  its  coming  or  may  guard  thee  best. 

I  would  that  thou  could'st  have  my  nature  o'er, 
That  all  thy  childish  griefs  I  might  divine, 
And  make  each  bliss,  that  I  once  longed  for, 

thine ; 

But  if  thy  soul  be  one  I  ne'er  before 
Have  known,  God  grant  I  love  thee  all  the  more, 
For  thou  may'st  have  a  greater  soul  than  mine. 


37 


THESE  APRIL  DAYS 

These  April  days,  ah,  who  can  say 

Just  what  the  weather  has  in  store? 

This  morning,  when  with  steady  pour 
The  rain  beat  down,  and  skies  were  gray, 
Ah,  who  could  guess  the  sun's  bright  ray 

Would  beam  before  the  day  was  o'er? 
These  April  days,  ah,  who  can  say 

Just  what  the  weather  has  in  store? 

My  love  is  sweet  as  an  April  day, 
And  though  no  welcome  smile  she  wore 

When  last  we  met,  I  '11  try  once  more — 
This  time  perhaps  she  '11  bid  me  stay. 
These  April  days,  ah,  who  can  say 

Just  what  the  weather  has  in  store? 


38 


THE  MOON-BEAM  BRIDGE 

O  golden  moon,  as  thou  dost  slowly  rise 
Above  the  beautiful  St.  Johns,  how  fair 
Thou  art  to  one  who  is  oppressed  by  care 

And  looks  at  thee  through  longing  tear-dimmed 
eyes. 

A  bridge  of  gold  across  the  water  lies; 

From  thee  it  stretches  firm  and  smooth  to  where 
I  stand.    O  would  that  I  might  cross,  and  share 

With  thee  the  glories  of  thy  Paradise ! 

And  yet,  dear  moon,  if  thou  should'st  let  me  in, 
I  might  not  feel  the  happiness,  nor  see 

The  light  and  beauty,  that  I  hoped  to  win. 
Perhaps  upon  this  earth  I  'd  yearn  to  be, 

For  it,  't  is  said,  though  full  of  pain  and  sin, 

Is  still  than  thou  more  fair,  when  seen  from  thee. 


39 


THE  OLD  SCHOOL-HOUSE 

We  started  out  to  find  the  old  school-house, 
The  oldest  house  in  Orange  Park.  At  last, 
With  limbs  that  ached  from  walking  through  the 

sand, 

We  reached  the  broken  gate ;  and  up  the  path, 
All  overgrown  with  brambles,  briers  and  weeds, 
We  slowly  went  until  we  reached  the  porch. 
All  rotted  and  unsafe  we  found  the  floor; 
And  fallen  limbs  from  overhanging  trees 
Had  broken  through  the  porch's  rotten  roof. 
The  roof  itself  was  green  with  moss  and  ferns. 
The  doors  were  gone ;  the  house  stood  open,  free 
To  wanderers  tame  and  wild,  to  man  and  beast. 
The  sun  poured  through  the  windows'  broken  panes 
On  fallen  plaster  littering  floor  and  stairs. 
The  straight  high  mantel-piece  that  framed  the 

wide 

Old-fashioned  hearth,  alone  stood  firm  and  dark — 
With  strange  suggestions  of  an  old-time  cheer. 
Beyond  the  doorway,  in  the  rear,  there  spread 
Long  level  stretches  of  the  stately  pines, 
Of  burly  live-oaks,  gray  with  hanging  moss, 
Of  bayonetted  palms  and  red-brown  fields 
Of  wiry  grass.    The  old  coquina  steps, 
Beneath  the  doorway's  sill,  lay  overturned — 
Grim  monuments  of  long-departed  days. 


A  chill  depression  pained  my  heart  and  grew 

More  strong  as,  one  by  one,  there  stood  revealed 

The  signs  of  desolation  and  decay. 

And  so  at  last  we  left  the  bleak  old  house ; 

But  could  not  leave,  alas,  the  heavy  weight 

Of  saddened  thought;   for  in  our  minds  still  clung 

The  images  it  had  evoked. 

But  soon 

A  winding  in  the  shady  road  disclosed 
A  gleam  of  light — the  beautiful  St.  Johns. 
All  suddenly  it  broke  upon  the  sight, 
With  miles  of  water  open  to  the  sky 
And  flashing  back  the  splendor  of  the  sun. 
It  seemed  a  symbol  of  eternal  years ! 
Just  so  it  must  have  looked  in  that  far  time 
When  Indian  fishers  in  their  light  canoes 
Or  Spanish  voyagers  in  high-prowed  ships 
Moved  up  and  down  its  shores. 

Our  hearts  grew  light ; 

We  lost  the  pain  man's  handiwork  had  wrought 
And  felt  the  peace  unchanging  nature  gives. 

NOTE  :  The  school-house  above-mentioned  was  situated 
on  the  plantation  where  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  first  re 
sided  in  Florida.  It  was  recently  burnt  to  the  ground. 


FADING  FLOWERS 

Last  month  the  jasmine  was  in  bloom : 
Each  blossom,  like  a  golden  star, 
Gleamed  in  the  light,  and  shed  afar 

Its  sweet  and  delicate  perfume. 

Though  jasmine-buds  no  more  delight 

The  eye,  before  me  now  I  see, 

Upon  the  climbing  Cherokee, 
A  hundred  roses,  snowy-white. 

And  soon  the  great  magnolia  trees 
Among  their  glossy  leaves  will  bear 
The  white  and  massy  blooms  that  share 

Their  heavy  odors  with  the  breeze. 

And  so,  through  all  the  burgeoning  year, 
The  various  flowers  shall  bloom  and  fade. 
Oh  why  was  all  this  beauty  made 

When  it  so  soon  must  disappear? 


IN  FLORIDA 

In  Florida  now  shines  the  sun  of  spring; 

And  there  the  roses  bloom,  the  glad  birds  sing; 
And  there,  before  my  door,  the  river  lies, 
Its  bosom  glowing  in  the  sunset  skies 

Or  in  the  morning  sunlight  glimmering. 

The  breezes  stir  the  wreaths  of  moss  that  swing 
From  live-oak  boughs;    and  from  the  tall  pines 

fling 

The  brown  cones  down;    and  sweet  the  odors 
rise 

In  Florida. 

O  birds  and  flowers  and  trees,  around  you  cling 
What  tender  memories!     My  thoughts  now  wing 
Themselves  to  you.     Where  nothing  greets  the 

eyes 
Save  snow  and  leafless  trees,  the  chilled  heart 

sighs 

For  all  the  light  and  life  the  days  now  bring 
In  Florida. 


43 


NOVEMBER 

To  stay  in  doors  to-day  were  best, 
For  nature  seems  to  be  oppressed 
With  melancholy  and  unrest. 

The  sun  has  ceased  to  shine.    The  air 

Is  filled  with  leaves  the  rough  winds  tear 

From  off  the  trees — now  almost  bare. 

Poor  trees  I  how  strange  and  weak  you  seem 
Without  your  leaves.    Ah,  who  would  dream 
You  once  controlled  the  sun's  fierce  beam. 

The  chilly  winds  rush  by  with  low 

Sad  moans.    Perhaps,  dear  trees,  they  know — 

And  grieve  that  they  must  leave  you  so. 


44 


A  flock  of  black-birds  draws  in  sight; 
Their  chattering  cry  is  shrill  with  fright 
Lest  evil  overtake  their  flight. 

My  own  mood,  too,  is  such  that  less 
Than  nature's  mourning  and  distress 
Would  fill  my  soul  with  heaviness. 

So  I  will  close  the  door,  and  here, 
Beside  the  log's  fresh-kindled  cheer, 
Will  warm  my  heart  and  banish  fear. 


45 


MY  VIOLIN 

My  violin,  with  tender,  loving  care, 

Is  resting  near  my  heart.    It  seems  to  share 

Each  quickened  throb,  and  as  I  draw  the  bow 
Across  the  trembling  strings,  they  seem  to  know 
My  inmost  heart  and  what  lies  hidden  there: 

My   heart   through   which,    (though    life    seems 

wholly  fair), 

There  thrills  a  sadness  like  some  deep  despair, 
Which  I  would  fain  conceal,   but  needs  must 
show 

My  violin. 

I  touch  the  strings;  before  I  am  aware 
They  learn  my  grief,  and  sad  notes  fill  the  air; 
In  melody  that  seems  to  overflow 
With  tearful  tones,  they  utter  all  my  woe. 
Ah,  is  it  kind  with  anguish  thus  to  tear 
My  violin? 


SPRING 

The  Spring  has  come,  and  everywhere 
The  flowers  have  bloomed,  and  trees  long  bare 
Have  put  forth  leaves,  and  birds  long  still 
With  raptured  notes  the  woodlands  fill. 

O  would  that  thou  to  me  could'st  bring 
Such  bloom  and  joy  as  these,  dear  Spring; 
That  thou  could'st  make  me  also  long 
To  lift  my  voice  once  more  in  song. 


47 


MEMORY 

The  dear  remembered  days — they  are  not  dead  I 
The  soul  transcends  the  momentary  thought. 

In  memory  the  Past  and  Present  wed, 

And  each  without  its  other  sinks  to  naught. 


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